


Mondays

by nateyface



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Lindsay's Heist, Minor Violence, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nateyface/pseuds/nateyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A minor alternate ending to Lindsay's Heist. Perhaps the cops actually pursued the train. Perhaps Ryan could have a less embarrassing way to go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mondays

Ryan - or today, _Force Pusher_ \- never lets a success touch him until the cash is split. The rest of the crew erupts with excitement, headsets crackling with _“It’s in, it’s in,”_ as the port-a-potty full of gold thuds securely into the train, but he keeps himself on high alert. He’s ready for something to go sour, even if everyone else lets their adrenaline start to coast downward.

There’s a moment for the crew to catch their breath, but only a moment. Deuce Goose and - Christ, what are they calling Michael today? - _Crap Catcher_ still have to get in the train with them. Activity picks up on the headsets again; Goose is running out of time in his damaged helicopter, and Michael may be fast but he can’t catch up with a fucking _train_. Boom-Boom runs a check of everyone - Ray and Ryan, himself, Lindsay - too scrambled to remember code names.

“Michael and Gavin, _get on the train!”_ Boom-Boom’s grip shakes on his rifle as he screams into his headset. There’s no warning before they all realize Goose is mid-air, parachuting from his busted ride, as they’re seconds from entering a looming tunnel.

Boom-Boom is the first to yell when Deuce Goose’s feet are solidly on the train, everyone else’s voices a blur. Goose himself makes garbled affirmative noises and stampedes over the train cars toward the gold. Ryan wishes the idiot would take a second to appreciate that he’s _fucking alive_ before recklessly tromping all over, but that’s sort of Gavin’s ‘thing’.

“We still need Michael!” Streaker shouts, but they’re all focused on Goose, who slips unceremoniously on the port-a-potty door and slams himself into hard metal. Of course he does.

“You’re gonna fall off,” Force Pusher scolds, but everyone’s easing back now. Goose is here, almost everyone’s here, Michael’s at least safe--

“Oh, _shit, it’s the cops!”_ Michael screeches.

“Kill the cops, take their car!” Streaker suggests with a laugh. No one’s worried, for some reason.

“Everything is going _beautifully,”_ Boom-Boom says. Ryan has no wood to knock on and wants to strangle the man for saying such a stupid thing when shit’s not over. “We’ve just got to get Michael on the car.”

There’s panic in Michael’s voice, even if everyone else is unusually calm. _“This might be the end of me, boys!”_ rings over their frequency and Ryan has had enough listening to this shit. _“They’re bippin’ me, they’re bippin’ me!”_

“You can survive!” Streaker’s voice is utter confidence, but Force Pusher leans over the bucket edge anyway, considering his options. Streaker and Lindsay start saying things that assume Michael doesn’t make it and it makes Ryan’s shoulders tense.

“We’re out of the city!” Boom-Boom announces, the landscape turning from shitty pavement to shitty dirt.

“Michael, _get in a car!”_ Ryan climbs up on the port-a-potty. There’s not enough being done and he’s too on-edge to let Michael fight on his own. He leaps off the train and tumbles down the hill to the freeway, shouting, “I’m going back for Michael!”

“What!? I’m back on the tracks!” Michael’s voice is crisp and Ryan’s face goes cold. Everyone is a haze of noises urging Ryan back to the train. He turns with a sigh and fights back the embarrassment, refocusing on just returning to the bucket. Could’ve used the information a few seconds sooner, he thinks to himself bitterly.

“Geoff, I’m trapped! Help me!” Goose whines, and Ryan can practically hear Boom-Boom rolling his eyes over the earpiece.

“What the hell am I gonna do?”

“Just stay there, Gavin,” Lindsay urges Goose. “You’re safe.” It sounds like Gavin frees himself, though, from the way he’s audibly catching his breath a moment later.

Ryan lets the voices fall back to a blur for now, focusing on his own drive back to the train. He informs them he’s closing in as he pulls alongside it and speeds ahead to give himself space for jumping on. He’s done this jump a number of times, as he assures them, and he lurches his stolen vehicle forward.

Suddenly, Goose is screeching. Bright light pounds Ryan’s eyes. Panic spreads quickly through the team, and Ryan feels the ground toss under the car. He’s not very far ahead of the train, but it sounds like they need help, especially as sirens whirr to life from seemingly every direction. He slams the brakes and narrowly avoids a grenade launched in his path. From the flurry of activity in his headset, he gathers that Gavin’s off the train, and they might have lost the gold.

“It’s safe, it’s safe!” Lindsay hollers suddenly, though it’s hard to hear over everyone’s confused screeching. “It’s in my car!”

Goose cuts in with a drawn-out _“No!”_ as another explosion rocks the ground nearby and echoes through their transmissions. Ryan barely hears Michael as the sirens get louder.

“Gav, get in! I’ve got you, son!” Though Michael’s voice is reassuring, Ryan can’t _see_ the pair, isn’t sure that Goose is safely getting into the vehicle. He leaps out of his own and prepares for the leap onto the train...

And misjudges his timing, smacking into cold metal and stumbling back onto the ground. He stares up at the helicopters, circling like turreted vultures, before rolling over to drag himself to his feet.

Or not - Michael’s stolen police car careens into him, knocking the air out of him completely. He slides across the dirt into the side of his abandoned car. ‘Ragdoll’ never seemed such an appropriate word before. Michael’s screaming at him to get into the car, but he can barely see, vision blurred with blood streaking down his forehead. He’s almost completely sure some ribs are broken, and he spits red as he stumbles to his feet and crawls into the back of the police car.

“How did we go from five people in the train to _three?”_ he hears Boom-Boom screech, but it’s far away. Ryan pushes his mic close to his mouth to hiss that he’s in the car.

“I’ve got half the team with me!” Michael sounds far away, too, despite being within arm’s reach. Ryan coughs wetly and tries to clear the blood and sweat from his face.

“I’m almost gone,” he says weakly. His voice weighs heavy in his throat, the words thick and hard to push.

“It’s okay, I got this.” A tremor shakes the car as Michael stomps the pedal, though whether it’s from an explosion or the car’s own resistance, Ryan isn’t sure. He squints out the window, sees a blur of pink that he thinks might be Ray’s rocket launcher. One of the helicopters veers out of the circle and becomes a bloom of orange. Michael stops the car and helps Ryan out as Gavin hucks sticky bombs toward the cops.

“No, give yourselves more time!” That’s Ray’s voice. They're left without a lot of wiggle room for jumping back on the train. It’s too late though, they’re out, and with a burst of adrenaline, Ryan hefts Michael into a traincar. He’s mid-turn to aim himself for the next bucket car when he feels it - a burning lance through his chest, the last bullet he’ll take this round. The circle overhead blurs and fades to black as the chaotic voices of the crew echo into nothing.

Ryan wakes, as he usually does, somewhere completely different. It takes him a minute or two to clear away the sticky discomfort of death, the cotton-ball fog that first blurs his mind when he regains consciousness. It’s probably best that way, he’s thought before; after all, he could wake as he felt when he died, and in most cases he’d rather not have the feeling last any longer than strictly necessary.

He’s largely empty of gear, and since he’s out of the heist, he peels the cat mask off his face. No sense stirring up a fuss without backup, and it’s good to have peripheral vision. He clears a blur of death-sleep from his eyes and checks his face paint in the window of a nearby car. As he’s frowning thoughtfully into the glass, he hears a familiar groan nearby.

“Gavin?” Ryan turns, ponytail whipping the side of his face.

“Bloody hell,” his crewmate whines. “That was bollocks, absolute bollocks.”

“What did I miss?” He helps Gavin to his feet, brushes a bit of pavement dust from his bare shoulder.

“Oh, it was a sight, Rye,” Gavin answers with a grin. “You went down and everyone started screamin’ bloody murder. Ray had a right fit, chucked a grenade right into a chopper like a pro. But I think Geoff and Linds were disappointed; they seemed sure we’d all make it alive this time.”

Ryan chuckles. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, I jumped wrong.” Gavin’s cheeks flush. “First I just banged my head a little. Then I tried again when the choppers were clear and I think I bashed my own bloody skull in.” He gags slightly, turning away.

“You’re a treasure, Gavin.” Ryan throws his arm over Gavin’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go tell Jack what she missed. Maybe she’ll help us convince the gang to still give us our shares.”

“Yeah, right, you dope.” Gavin laughs easily and mock-punches Ryan in the side. “Like you actually want shit-covered gold. Blech.”

“That’s a fair point... Maybe she’ll help us arrange to mug the cash off them later.”

“Much better.”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, you can leave a comment, suggest a prompt, or say hi at [ryanslostfootage](http://ryanslostfootage.tumblr.com).


End file.
